


Thedas Alphabet

by RedIn



Series: Thedas Alphabet [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedIn/pseuds/RedIn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few not connected between them scribbles, production of my hallucinated mind.</p><p>Enjoy =]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Absentmindness

They stood there, staring at him. Brushing unruly locks from his eyes, he glared back blankly at the strangers.

Three humans and a weird, beardless dwarf stood on his path, delaying him and the Master rudely. They knew his name while he had never met them before. Who were those intruders?

The tall blond man with an incredibly strong magic aura watched him with a sad curiosity. A very lightly dressed, dark haired beauty scowled openly, her eyes as sharp as her wicked daggers. He told them he didn't know them. Another dark haired woman, one with a fine bow, called out his name out tenderly, crying and swearing by the Maker she'd find a way to bring him back.

His Master just stood there, smiling smugly. 

He didn't know what she has meant. He wasn't lost, he was standing right there. Why was she crying as if she, herself, had lost something precious? He didn't understand. 

The crying woman demanded his Master to release him, promising him revenge, justice for what he had done. He was surprised by her insolence. Who was she to demand things from his Master? A furious, protective growl passed his lips.

His Master just laughed into her face and signaled him. “Bring me their hearts, my little wolf,” he said.

Fenris unsheathed his sword and charged forward.


	2. Bacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel/Anders

"Bacon!" Anders exclaimed in excitement as a large plate appeared right before his nose. He stared, drooling, at the thin, well fried, brown-golden pieces of meat accompanied by mashed potatoes and mushrooms. Anders really loved bacon, consuming it at every opportunity, stealing from Nathaniel's plate whenever possible with that silly-sweet smirk of his.

"Oh, and Nate! Thank you. I had no idea how hungry I was till now." The healer gave a sheepish smile to the ex-noble. "Glad to see where I rate: just behind bacon." Nathaniel Howe rolled his eyes.

"Hey, you are on the second place, it's still pretty high,” the healer objected, still fascinated with his plate. "Right. The way to Anders's heart: pork. If I’d only known it earlier…" Howe said and stole a kiss from his laughing lover


	3. Choice

"If you won't kill the abomination, I swear I'll go back to Starkhaven and I'll bring back an army big enough to hunt down you and your precious Anders! There won't be a single stone left of this cursed city when I'm done with it. I'll show you both the true meaning of justice!"

"So, you want me to kill Anders for killing the grand cleric? Otherwise you'll come back all shiny and righteous and will perform your own act of justice upon us all?" the terrifyingly calm rogue asked Sebastian. "Am I right?" Sebastian nodded, his lips forming a thin, demanding line.

Varric shifted from foot to foot uneasily. When the Champion became so very calm you knew, it was the time to flee, very very fast.

"Garrett, I do not want any more trouble, I know I deserve to die for what I have done..."

"Shut up Anders, I have heard enough." Garrett barked out, half turning to the pale healer. Anders bowed his head in resignation. None dared to defy the Champion, not even his lover.

In a smooth movement Hawke took out his beloved dagger and stepped forward. Advancing with the fluid gait of a feline he kept his narrowed eyes on his victim. Hawke just grinned coldly when the blade found soft flesh. The man yelped, arching in pain. He gurgled helplessly, clawing at the dagger hilt buried in his throat. "Hawke…" Anders gave Hawke a wide-eyed, unbelieving gaze.

"Bloody hypocrite…" Hawke spat on the dying man and raised his head, staring at each of his stunned companions, gaze blazing defiantly.

"Who else thinks he can threaten me or my lover?" Hawke growled, lazily wiping the weapon dry on Vael's breeches and letting go of the dying body. The prince fell with a wet grunt, a still surprised expression slowly turning into a death mask as life left his body.


	4. Duty

It was his duty. He had sworn an oath, an eternal promise that burned in his veins. He had sworn to protect the world from their evil, to protect them from themselves. It was his destiny, the very first thing he had chosen for himself. And he wouldn't shrink away from his duty just because this mage was involved with his older brother. He wasn't his brother's shadow, not anymore. He was a free man, free to choose his own path, determined to do his work.

The mage was a dangerous being despite his selfless pose. He was unstable, possessed, a troublemaker. But his brother always thought he knew best, protecting the abomination, staring after the ridiculous feathery coat with doe eyes. His brother was a blind fool.

But he was above it; he saw the demon beneath the man. He had disturbed him from the first moment they met. He knew he had to stop the mage before someone was hurt.

He knocked at the massive door made of black wood. "Come in." Captain-Commander Cullen looked up from his desk. "Ser Hawke, is there something I can help you with?"

Carver Hawke straightened up; his large form stiff with determination. "Captain-Commander, I have information about the Darktown Healer's whereabouts."


	5. Ecstasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I blame KatDancer on that. Happy creeping out dear readers.

His feverishly bright blue eyes traced the familiar face of Maker's chosen one. The symbol of his faith, pure and untouched as it should be. The ex-prince knew he had to be strong. He was above flesh and bone temptations. He refused to think about her eyes, her full, kissable lips. About her soft breasts and long, muscular legs, no, he had sworn, he belonged to the Chantry now!

His fingertips circled the golden contours of Andraste's face tenderly, almost sensually as Sebastian wiped away any trace of dried blood or mud that had remained from the last encounter with those slavers.

A drop of sweat fell down his neck, followed by another and another. Shutting his eyes, Sebastian's trembling hands moved faster and faster all over his armor, dropping down to caress his belt.

Almost suffocating, he wasn't able to stop. Words once clear and humble broke up into ecstatic noises. The prayer streamed on, fast and desperate. His lips praised the Maker and his bride, fingers moving in unison with the heated hymn.

Sebastian found his breath after a while and looked around. He needed another rug.


	6. Favor

"I have tried to hold back. You saw what I almost did to that girl. But I am still a man. You can't tease me like this and to expect me to resist forever." Anders was amazed by his own bluntness, but after daydreaming about Hawke for the last three years he was more than starved for him. Hawke, remarkable, unique, brave and handsome, was looking at him fondly and encouraging him.

Anders couldn't hold off anymore. Their lips met in a burning sensation, an overwhelming hunger for more. Anders broke the kiss, eyelids fluttering and panting. Hawke was looking at him; stormy-blue eyes wide with surprise and lust.

"If your door is open tonight, I'll come to you. If not, I'll know you took my warning at last."

Hawke just nodded, a promise in his beautiful lopsided smirk and left.

Too occupied by their emotions, they never saw their companion, surprised and thoughtful at the scene he had just witnessed. The man left quickly, before he was noticed by any of them.

It was close to midnight when Anders reached out for Hawke's estate door knob. He was freshly bathed and very nervous. For three years he had ached for Hawke and tonight the man would be his. 

He definitely didn't expect the door to be locked. Anders tried again, with the same result.

He kept standing there for a while, his legs refusing to move on and his heart a bitter disappointed mess. Anders's lips were trembling as he choked back the upcoming sobs. Hawke had rejected him.

When he finally turned away from the estate his steps were those of a sick, old man.

Sebastian Vael watched him leaving from between the shadows across the street. To be involved with a possessed, unstable apostate would bring his friend no more than trouble in the future. He was doing Hawke a favor, really. Surely the man would thank him when he saw the truth of his actions.


	7. Ginger

Hawke was never the romantic, gallant or very attentive person Varric described him to be his books. He didn't know how to flirt or to charm people. After all a huge, muscular mercenary with a large sword and wild eyes wasn't a very charming sight. Hawke didn't know to lie or to twist the truth around. When he wanted something, he took the direct approach.

Hawke wanted Anders. 

But whenever the golden haired mage was near, Hawke went nearly catatonic, awkward and clumsy as a teenager. The healer was oblivious. Isabela found it to be quite funny at first but after a few times she got tired of teasing Garrett and caught the silent admirer for a talk. 

When Hawke appeared one day in Anders's clinic with a large bouquet of ginger roots wrapped in a beautiful green bow (and the saucy pirate hidden in the background), the healer was more than surprised. "Umm…thank you Hawke, it's indeed a very useful herb." Anders said carefully, still wondering about the silky bow. "But why you are giving me that?"

Hawke chewed on his bottom lip for a while; his thick brows concentrated in a frown. Anders waited patiently for the warrior to fumble through the words. "It's an herb. It is used for healing. It's good in cookies too. And you love it in your tea…and in your soap." As the warrior kept talking he flushed more and more, unused to long speeches. Anders's eyebrows were climbing up till it seemed they'd just fly away.

"What our fearless leader means is that you're hot. He's courting you, in his…err... special way." Isabela decided to help with the awkward situation, jumping out from the shadows. Hawke opened his mouth a few times, closed it and growled something agreeable. 

"Oh…OH!..." Anders said no more. His wide, accepting smile was the answer Hawke was waiting for.


	8. Hent

"I can't. I won't do it. It's wrong!  There must be another solution," the healer insisted. Anders took a sharp breath and began pacing again. The clinic was dark and empty. The blond apostate stopped for a moment to throw an angry glance at his friend.  
  
The other man wasn't impressed. He kept observing the nervous healer, his expressionless face betraying  no emotion. **"There is no compromise, no other options. You know it. You always knew it. You can't reason with Templars, they'll slaughter every mage in this damned city very soon. We have no time. Even Hawke can't stop it."**   
  
Anders choked on what he'd planned to say. Black pauldrons slumped, the apostate lowered his head. He knew that. Meredith was crazier than before, his Underground allies were dead or on the run, trying to survive. He was the only one left to act.  
  
He had to remove the chance of compromise because there couldn't be one. He had been a fool to believe otherwise.   
  
His devotion and determination is broken by a single word. Hawke. Shards of memories, a bittersweet pain in his chest.  "I love Hawke. I need him... Why can't I be happy? " the healer murmured brokenly.   
 **  
"You are an egoist. How can you think of happiness when your brothers and sisters are suffering as we speak? How fast did you forget the oppression of mages! The faces of those who weren't tranquil just yesterday, can you see them? You knew many of them. Good mages, weren't they?"**  
  
Justice stepped forth, leaning towards Anders. The renegade mage looked at the spirit. Unable to stop looking into those righteously burning blue eyes, Anders shuddered. A twisted copy of him moved closer. A deeply disapproving face, similar to his, snarled at him wordlessly. Demanding fingers caught his chin causing pain, preventing any chance to escape. **"Hawke is a distraction.  When Hawke is near you lose focus. I won't allow it anymore. The distraction must be removed."**  
  
"Maker, no! I won't let you hurt Hawke. Never!" With a desperate scream Anders broke the contact between them. He used every inch of willpower he had to push back the raging spirit.   
  
Tears of horror ran down his cheeks.    
  
Anders finally understood. One day he won't be able to stop this almost uncontrollable wailing mass of hatred. That day he'd destroy the most precious thing he ever had.  
  
Hawke.  
  
"What have I done?"


	9. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/6614.html?thread=24027606#t24027606  
> Justice banters with the companions!

**Justice:** I request that your graceful song of lyrium to join mine so together we will merge into of finest duets.

 **Fenris:** You are requesting what? ...

 **(if Isabela in the party):** Oh! He just offered you no less than a tryst! I wouldn't miss the glowy party for the world.

 **Justice:** Your body is singing to me, alluring, intoxicating.  It is difficult resist.

 **Fenris:** (There won't be party.) Mage tell your demon pet to stop pestering me before I'll show him your bleeding heart.

 **Justice:** My intentions are honorable!

 **Hawke (not romanced):** Maybe you should try a bottle of wine and some flowers next time.

 **Hawke (romanced Anders):** Justice, go find yourself another body to court Fenris in. Anders's is out of question.

 **Hawke (romanced Fenris):** Justice, go find yourself  a lyrium-addled Templar to court. Fenris is off-limits. But I have heard that Ser Cullen is available.

 

**

 

 **Isabela:** So, do you help Anders to polish his staff? Is it a daily affair? Or do you just watch?

 **Justice:** Anders is able to clean his weapon by himself. I don't need to help him in such a mundane task. Although he's not precise as he used to be. The staff does need a daily treatment after your running around.

 **Isabela:** I volunteer to help!! Anders will love the way I'll shine his staff. (purrs)

 **Justice:** Why the sudden interest in Anders's st…Stay away, you filthy woman! There is nothing pure in your soul.

 **(if Merrill is in the party):** Did I miss something dirty again?

**

 **Isabela:** Are you still working on your manifesto?

 **Justice** : We are. Are you interested  in reading it?

 **Isabela:** Actually I have a better idea. I will draw illustrations for your…document.

 **Justice:** We don't need it to be illustrated.

 **Isabela:** Of course you do. Think about all those poor souls that can't read. It'll be really unjust for them. And I'm quite experienced in illustrating. Did you see "Hard in Hightown"?  I did ALL the illustrations.

 **Justice:** You have a point pirate. I had no idea you are cared for the cause. I'll check the book later to see the quality of your drawings.  Perhaps I have misjudged you.

**

 **Jusice:** Did you want something dwarf?

 **Sandal:** Magic!

 **Justice:** I do not understand how it'll help me free the mages.

 **Sandal:** Enchantment!

 **Justice:** Are you saying that book may contain the solution me and Anders and I have been searching for?

 **Sandal:** BOOM!

 **Justice (thoughtfully):** That is an interesting idea dwarf. Thank you. I'll have to look into it.


	10. Inceptive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for the little disorder with the letters. I won't fix it. But here, have some Anders angst.
> 
> ^_^

It was a cold, windy day, middle of the winter. A heavy rain poured over the small human figures daring to cross the lake in such weather. The larger figures, clad in iron, were quiet and stoic, enduring the harsh weather. They guarded a child curled into himself, in the bottom of the boat. The Templars ignored the boy, chatting between themselves in low, tired voices. They were exhausted and annoyed, wishing for a solid roof and a warm fire.

He was brought into a small room without windows, thrown in roughly, only a candle left as the door closed behind his captors. Big brown eyes went wet with tears, low whimpers of fear and despair he held inside that small, hurt body broke the silence. He brought his bruised knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Shaking, the boy couldn't stop keening. He was helpless as never before, terrified, no longer hoping for a soft hand upon his cheek or someone coming to rescue him. So alone.

"I have heard the Templars brought a new boy in the morning." Jowan whispered to an elven boy next to him. 

Alim Surana nodded and rubbed his pointy ear. "Yes, although he was sent right to the Punishment Room. The rumour is that he put up some resistance." 

Jowan's eyes grew wide with concern "Poor boy, it sounds so cruel." 

"I hope he will be okay," Alim sighed, summing up the conversation.

He was released a few days later, an agonizing eternity for his confused mind. Quiet, obedient, almost broken, the child tottered out. They gave him new clothes and a new name. Anders, they called him, deleting the last ties to his past.


	11. Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fionavar, it's totally your fault I'm writing this scene. You made me to see it, burned it into my poor mind! (runs away)

Ser Alrik grabs the prisoner by his long, once-silky locks and pulls him up. With a barely-heard whimper, the man tries to stand up, his thin limbs shaking from exhaustion. He is no longer resisting, crushed both physically and mentally. The moment Marian Hawke sided with the Templars, basically betraying him into Meredith's hands, he broke into million pieces.

He has no idea how long he had been imprisoned in the windowless, small cell. Days, weeks, months, it doesn't matter anymore. Time has no meaning. Nothing has a meaning anymore. 

At first he has prayed for a quick end but the Maker never paid attention to his pleas. Once more he was left at the mercy of the merciless.

Anders' dull eyes gaze at the taller, bald man in the hated armor, his breathing is shallow. He allows him to push his hair away, exposing the filthy skin. The mage doesn't move, just watches his torturer hopelessly. When a knife is pulled out, his eyes are wide with a first gleam of fear. Whatever the Templar is about to do, he is powerless to stop it. 

"Let's have a small rehearsal for the real thing," Ser Alrik smirks. Anders doesn't understand yet but is terrified already. He shivers and whimpers again against the sharp blade pressing to his forehead.

It hurts. It bleeds in tiny stripes down his gaunt face. Red on pale skin is mixing with hot tears from under his closed eyelids. The Templar keeps carving into his flesh, demanding him to keep his eyes open. He likes to see the fear in those once defiant eyes.

When his jailor finishes Anders is pushed away and instructed not to touch his face. Hands and legs numb, Anders obeys. He doesn't need to feel the new scars; he has no need for a mirror to know what was cut onto him.

His worst nightmare is about to become true.

Anders screams.


	12. Love

Hawke studied the sleeping Anders. The blond mage was sprawled on his stomach, thoroughly sated after another wild night of sex and almost serene in his sleep. 

Vulnerable. 

Hawke grinned, any trace of tenderness vanishing from his face, the grin turning into a mix of possession, satisfaction and sheer cold calculation. 

The poor guy had no idea that he was no more than a fly and Hawke was his spider. It wasn't hard to convince the pathetic excuse of a mage, so starved for attention, that Hawke truly desired him. In reality he didn't care for the mage at all, but Hawke was an awesome actor. Talented enough to deceive everyone into believing he was head over heels for the healer.

Life had taught him to use everything as leverage. It was the only way to survive. He measured things and people in his life by their usefulness to him and Anders was a rather useful tool. An excellent healer, a powerful mage and possessed by a spirit of Justice. The entire package was wrapped quite handsomely, too. Blond hair, warm brown eyes and a lean body - everything Hawke loved. Not to mention the man's skills in bed.

Finally, after almost three years of shy flirting, playing the sensitive friend and a man in love, he lured the abomination into his web, tied the mage to him in thousands of unseen emotional chains, stronger than any real chains could be. 

The mage was his now - body and soul, always watching him with those loyal puppy eyes. Anders was his to use as he wished to. 

Exactly how Hawke wanted it.


	13. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Arkady, inspired by his Desiderata fanfic.
> 
> <3

The moon was pale and bright, dividing the world into bristling light and shadows. 

A large wolf, grey with vivid patterns of white, stepped forward. The intelligent-eyed beast sniffed the grass carefully. When he picked up the familiar scent his muscular legs carried him on. Every movement was strong and graceful. 

The wolf stopped near a small river as he spotted his target. Another wolf. This one was a lanky fellow, his lush fur of soft golden shades, its eyes wide and honey-brown. Raising his head from the cool water, the slender beast observed the newcomer, brows slightly raised. They stared at each other for some time before the golden wolf sprinted forward, through the shallow waters.

He stopped before the silent grey wolf, playfully jumping around; a happy, softly yipping whirlwind. The grey just snorted, and pushed down the panting wolf to lick him affectionately.

Still excited, writhing before his mate, the golden one expressed himself in high-pitched barking. The grey wolf growled approvingly and bit the back of his mate's neck. The other went obediently limp under his companion's teeth, softly whimpering his excitement. With a possessive growl, the grey wolf placed a large, heavy paw on his mate sprawled under him and kept to his task of grooming the silky soft fur. 

Eyes shining with pure adoration, the golden wolf stared up at him.


	14. Nesh

Anders soared from flower to flower like a bee. He was already done with picking the needed herbs; his satchel was full of those and he simply enjoyed himself picking wild flowers.  


Nathaniel didn't mind. He enjoyed those trips into the woods. The air was fresh, the skies bright and Anders was happy. Not so secretly, the archer watched the sparkling mage with joyful eyes, golden hair and a smile brighter than the sun. 

He adored Anders’s smile, the smile of the most important person in his life. A man for whose happiness he would kill without thinking, just to see his mage so joyful and carefree. He watched his lover fussing in the knee high grass, a sight worthy of admiration.

Nathaniel was lost in his thoughts. He didn't notice Anders coming till something was placed on his head. He blinked slowly, inhaling the sweet scent and realized he was wearing a flower crown. A crown made of daisies and golden poppies. The archer laughed, surprised at the sweet gesture. "Do I look as stupid as I feel?"

"It suits you, king of my heart." Anders's amused eyes were warm and so close to his face, full of open love and admiration.

"The king wishes for a kiss," he drawled seductively and then sneezed. The loud sneeze caused the flowery ring which was a bit too large on his head to slide down and cover his eyes.

He could hear a low chuckle when familiar lips pressed against his nose.


	15. Originality

"Anders, I helped you to collect sela petre and drakestone. And now you are asking me to distract the grand cleric? For what purpose, I must ask? We are friends, and I would give my life for you, but I hate it when you lie to me." Garett Hawke crossed beefy arms over his chest and glared at his friend. 

"Good morning! Ma vhenan, I made you cookies. I promise they're totally safe. I used only the ingredients that were mentioned in the recipe this time." Merrill babbled cheerfully as she hovered into the mansion all shining and happy as usual.

The Champion ceased arguing, smiling warmly at his elven lover. His smile faltered when he spotted the paper-wrapped package in her small hands. Garett Hawke, the mighty slayer of the Arishok, the Champion of Kirkwall, felt an overwhelming urge to escape at sight of Merrill's cooking. The last time he was foolish enough to taste her soup, he retched for hours. The time before it, she made him a cup of some Dalish tea. The Champion spent that night in Anders clinic, pissing blue.

Lips twitching, he tried to smile at Merrill and unwrapped the package. He couldn't stand the hope in her huge greenish eyes. With a heroic grimace, he quickly popped a round cookie into his mouth and chewed. Hawke swallowed and waited for something to happen. He froze like this for some time, Anders and Merrill looking at him expectantly. When nothing seemed to happen he opened his eyes and blinked. "Actually, it's tasty. Well done, love." Merrill bloomed into a huge delighted smile and made a step towards him but stopped, seeing the sudden change at his expression. 

Hawke clutched his belly with an angsty growl. "Oh shit," was all he said before practically escaping to where the toilet room was. Merrill looked concerned and alarmed as she rushed after him. 

Anders looked at the plate thoughtfully. Maybe he wouldn't need Hawke's help in distracting the Chantry dogs after all.

By the time Hawke limped out of the toilet room, holding his still-hurting belly very carefully, the healer was gone. And all the cookies with him.


	16. Prince

Bethany was raised on fairytales of handsome princes and heroes. The girl was charmed by the stories her parents used to read her every evening. Like most girls, she used to spend her time playing with poorly made dolls. In her daydreams she was always rescued by handsome prince on a white stallion. 

Her dreamy prince had perfect hair, beautiful clear eyes and a lovely smile. He was gallant and good hearted, laughed at her jokes, gifted her with flowers and jewelry and danced with her as she wore beautiful dresses.

Twenty years later, warden Bethany learned that princes could have pointed ears,and be tainted, devious-minded and very not romantic, nervous and often cursing, covered in blood, crazy-eyed with untidy hair and overly used armor.

In safety of Tabris's arms, Bethany knew she wouldn't want for it any way.


End file.
